


An Invite for Tea

by BorkMork



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Also banter for the soul, Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25388893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BorkMork/pseuds/BorkMork
Summary: “And captain.”“Sir.”Roy hesitated. For a second, he almost wished that there was a better way to word what he was about to ask of her, for there was no elegance in asking small things when it came to Riza Hawkeye.“Sir?”“Why don’t we drive over for some tea?” Riza stared at him before he continued. “Cold weather's frustrating to adapt to. A drink should help with it, or at least warm up the body before we part ways.”-Returning back from Ishval, Roy and Riza decide to spend a moment together at Roy's apartment.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 22
Kudos: 84





	An Invite for Tea

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to Ao3 user [Hadithi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hadithi/pseuds/Hadithi) for being the beta reader for this story!

Central hadn’t changed since the last time Roy Mustang had seen it. There were still similarities between the past incarnations of the headquarter design, but he knew better than to think nothing had changed since months had passed. He could still recognize where the fissures were in the aftermath of the Promised Day. His shoes clacked against the pavement, heard the lack of difference in the sound, and reminded himself that this place was a battleground once. 

He hoped it wouldn’t be a battleground again.

Night had settled hours ago. The spotlights hazed the dark in columns, and Roy strode through the common yard with light steps. For a man like him, it was better to keep a vigilant eye out over his surroundings. He could see a reason to worry, he had been granted the go-ahead in securing more returning operations into the heart of the Ishvalan region. Reconstruction wouldn’t work out if he found himself with a knife in his back. But he knew who he was — any poor sucker who'd try a stunt like that wouldn’t be given a moment to pray.

“Sir.” He looked over and noted the familiar form of Riza Hawkeye walking toward him. They had gotten back from their operation over at the Eastern sector, so it wasn’t surprising for him to see her in unflinching appeal, both epaulets adorned with her newly signature stars. “Your car is out in front.”

Roy nodded. His captain was always efficient, even when the fatigue showed through the small marks under her eyes. “Thank you, captain. I didn’t expect for you to be here still.”

“I assisted with the unloading bay," she said. "Fuery's prototype needed to be hauled in for repairs.”

Roy did recall hearing about the warrant officer. The new radio model had worked wonders with bringing back communication into Ishval. Better transmissions allowed for improved dispatch in the area, and improved dispatch led to smoother execution with the supply docks. From what he heard with the current wiring, he'd probably need to order for the newest rendition of the technology if they wanted a cleaner operation in the fall.

He rubbed his head. A cold wisp escaped from his lips. “Right, almost forgot about that.” _Forgot_ , _more like_ _I was_ _too tired to even think properly_ _at this point._ “You’ll be driving, correct?”

“Of course.”

They started toward the gates. The moon found its way out of the clouds and surveyed them from above, painting their uniforms in crisp cobalt. It was odd to be back in the main city compared to how long they had situated themselves in gritty desert for three months. There weren’t messages of dust storms headed their way, the constant presence of sweat on his collar, or his captain reprimanding him for not keeping his canteen on his holster twenty-four-seven. What he witnessed was Central’s urban sprawl amidst cool winter breeze — the opposite of painstaking summer.

“General, something the matter?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve diverted off the path.”

Roy looked down. She was right. His boots were soaked in newly-toiled mud, the frost melted on the sheen of his toecaps.

“I’m more tired than I thought,” he mused, almost entertained by how dirtied his soles had become. “We’ve been in the desert for far too long if I can’t even get used to how cold it is here.”

“You’ll adjust, sir. My only worry is if you can get back to your work schedule.”

He snorted. The one thing Roy missed about the desert: the majority of the paperwork wasn’t on him for a change. “You had to bring _that_ up.”

“As your adjutant, I'm inclined to do so.”

Roy chuckled. When he got out of the grassy muck, he scraped the mire off his heels. “You just want to switch back to slavedriver, captain. Your cruelty knows no bounds.”

“Just doing my job, general.” He heard the rise in her voice. Hawkeye was always the master of subtlety. It was hard for people to see if she was amused or cold most of the time on duty unless they trained themselves to do so. One had to note a change in poker face, the passing tension in form, and the slight hints of emotion through her trained composure. Trying to understand her was an art by itself. “I don’t doubt your ability to resume your previous position if your efforts in Ishval were anything to go by.”

“Why thank you, I didn’t expect you to be so—”

“Knowing you however, the same compassion won’t be found in the deskwork.”

He exchanged a grimace. Luckily for him, Roy had more practice than anyone when it came to understanding her. “Right. We better get going before you start admonishing me in front of the passing officers.”

Riza looked happy to oblige, once again behind him with their routine, always three-step behind him.

“And captain.”

“Sir.”

Roy hesitated. For a second, he almost wished that there was a better way to word what he was about to ask of her, for there was no elegance in asking small things when it came to Riza Hawkeye.

“Sir?”

“Why don’t we drive over for some tea?” Riza stared at him before he continued. “Cold weather's frustrating to adapt to. A drink should help with it, or at least warm up the body before we part ways.”

Her expression looked muted at best. For the years that Roy knew her, he still couldn’t see through the moments where she _did_ surprise him. He harbored a simple inquiry. It was an invitation to something more intimate than what they usually did, and he was ready for her to deny it. After all, what good was there if they added to the speculation about their dynamic as a whole? Yet he still focused on her reaction, hoping he could spot a lick of sentiment in her gaze.

And he found what he was looking for, in the ghostly smile of her lips.

“By all means, sir, lead the way.”

* * *

Roy wished he had planned this rendezvous earlier. He and the captain never had a silent moment together, and the times they did were few and far between. There was cause for why it was hard to plan something out. Ever since they were given roles to clean up the remaining mess of the Promised Day the amount of paperwork on his desk had piled into monstrous size. The promotion to brigadier general added to the build up with the promises of Ishvalan reclamation, Xingese diplomacy, and whatever else the government wanted to throw at him. Any notion of meeting together had been swept up in these justifications:

_If there’s a meeting with the major general then move the invitation to next week. What? Next week’s already booked, seriously?_

_Captain, I have a date scheduled at eleven-hundred. You know how Vanessa gets when I’m late!_

And his captain would do the same thing:

_Sir, I apologize, but I’ve planned a day off on Tuesday to restock the fridge._

_General, I’ll accept the invitation on Sunday, if you don’t slack off with the current alchemist recruitment._

Add up the months taken to prepare and execute a restoration project and the hours never totaled to a quiet moment alone. The reasons were well-thought and expected, but really — if he dug his fingers into the heart of it all — they were all excuses. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t confide in Riza. She had proven time and time again to be valuable to his cause, scarily faithful in keeping up the current dynamic they had while they snuck up the ranks. He was adamant on weaponizing his own image if that’s what it took to get to the top, and she was loyal enough to tend to the façade. They could be sent back to square one if the other fell out of grace...or be used as leverage. And that was the problem: the reality wasn’t new to them. Roy had seen his captain get her throat slit for heaven’s sake. There were too many parameters. Too much to lose.

So he questioned why they were at his apartment for tea — preparing his bed as the captain took her time in the bathroom. Their cups had been cleaned and placed into the cupboards, the barebones furniture put back in their place. The muffled hiss of the shower occupied his mind. Gathering the rolled-up covers from the closet, he enveloped the mattress in heavy bedding, and hoped they were enough, for the wind had started to rattle against the windows. 

Roy hadn’t used his bed for a while. He would rather sleep on the couch when he had to work overtime or out of the office, using the cushions as a form of leeway for the tension in his back, but Roy knew, even with his hesitancy, that both of them needed comfort more than anything. He had seen Riza’s eyes go bloodshot before. She knew when to take care of herself, but with the recent career strain there was a yearning to at least give back to her. To be in the other's ease was a lot better than being alone, especially with the images that plagued them at night.

Roy had been at the mercy of nightmares before. His body had ached with guilt on lonely nights, worn down by sensations that crawled through him like bugs in summer heat. Flames lingered across his skin, tongue bittered by human ash and gun oil, and when he shot up from sleep — beaded in sweat amid the darkness of his quarters — he would wait for the breaking dawn to signal another day. 

The worst dreams came when Hawkeye was in the picture. She would pervade the corners of his eyes, watching him with a blank stare when he drowned in heat or plummeted to the earth. She wouldn’t speak, she couldn’t hear him when he tried to reach out to her, but in those moments Roy saw her back exposed to the wind, once-pristine ink patched with the blots of white and red. Roy sought these images as if they were ghosts and he did wish, before the rise of the Promised Day, and hoped that the nightmares would lessen when everything was over. 

He got a bit of what he was looking for, just a bit. In recovery, his visions were replaced with darkness, blurs of color than true literal forms. His mind gave him a break for once, lulling himself into deep sleep that he hadn't taken in such a long time. The nightmares were present, but they lessened ever so slightly, enough to make him grateful. 

The tea was a small step to accepting the intimacy again, resting alongside each other was a discomfort, an important one he ultimately needed to embrace. Roy wanted to be with Riza for tonight, and Riza accepted the gestures because she too wanted the same thing. Because happiness was foreign.

He asked himself numerous times if he deserved all of this, this sliver of joy, and whether he could allow it without some part of himself seeing selfishness. Therapy scratched at his back once or twice when he inquired, but all he got was the choice to act. Would he be satisfied in flogging himself while reaching his goal? Today, the answer was obvious. In a few years, would it change? Could Roy Mustang — the Hero of Ishval, the Monster of Ishvala — truly change the nation if he couldn’t decide upon his own punishment?

“Anything bothering you, sir?”

Roy looked up. Riza was at the entrance of the bedroom with her hair still damp. She had her pajamas on, eyes affixed to his with a furrowed eyebrow. His hands still hovered over the covers, which were now prepared for the night, but somehow his fingers kept fumbling with the fabric, like there was more he needed to do somehow.

“Nothing to note,” he said finally. “It’s been a while since we’ve done this.”

Riza looked at him more. If she was discontent with the answer she didn’t seem to show it. “Five months exactly.”

“Right,” he said. She always paid attention to the small details, a habit long before their current profession. “I’m satisfied with my progress, but how long has it been since we had an adequate drink? The stuff we had in the desert was a bit weak for my tastes.”

“The alcohol wasn’t all bad. But I can agree on how long it has been since we’ve relaxed in this way.” Roy noted a fleeting glimpse of her smile. Her earrings were gone, and any semblance of her gun holsters were stripped away with the change into her nightwear. “Enough to make you forget that you have a bed, sir.”

“Hey.” He scrunched his nose at her as he got himself onto the mattress. “Couches are decent when it comes to paperwork.”

“And that didn’t stop the complaints of back pain and the lack of sleep.”

Roy grunted at that, playfully swatting at the captain when she got herself acquainted on the right side of the bed, letting the cushions creak from the new weight. “No correlation whatsoever.”

She was right though. Riza always was when it came to stuff like this, and Roy would have been an idiot to protest further when they could have been resting the night away with one another. He propped himself onto his elbows.

“Hayate is at your neighbor’s, correct?”

“I’ll be getting him tomorrow,” she mumbled. Roy’s breath faltered when she moved over to face him, her eyes seeming to ask for permission. He relaxed and leaned into her warmth. Riza pressed her face to the texture of his pajamas under the stretch of bedsheets. “Either way, he won’t be here tonight.”

Which meant…

“We can talk."

“Correct.”

“Oh thank God,” he groaned, smiling softly when she pressed herself more into his chest. “I was waiting to talk about a specific chicken for weeks.” The chicken being General Jürgen, a man sent to Eastern Command to help reinforce the reconstruction project, and an overall pain in the ass.

“Be careful, general.” Riza’s laugh was soft, endearing to his ears. “Wouldn’t want a loose tongue. Being loquacious with a rank like yours could get us in trouble.”

“We’re talking about strategy here, captain,” he whispered with a sly crack in his voice.

Her eyes held contact with his. They looked tired, amused but ultimately tired. He didn’t know why she declined the notion. What better time to talk “strategy” regarding the general — albeit through talking shit — than at the dead of night? “Is it because of the mission intervention?”

“He’s questioning why human decency is being done,” Roy said. “We expected resistance but it’s irritating to see how far they’d gone just to not have us involved in rebuilding Ishval.”

Riza narrowed her eyes a little. “Just remember to keep yourself in check.”

“I will.” If he didn’t, then the whole persona and dynamic they had pulled out onto the eyes of the public would be all for nothing. He smiled, however. “I had the last laugh though. Did you see his face?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She knew. She’d seen how rigid the general was when he had gotten pulled down a few ranks when the man’s own reconnaissance backfired, which was, to be frank, the best moment Roy had ever witnessed throughout the entire assignment. He didn’t even have to dirty his hands that much to keep the ex-general out of the picture.

“A man who thought he was untouchable”—his fingers skimmed through the length of her hair—“being brought down to Earth for his hubris. It’s a tale as old as time, Hawkeye.”

She sighed. “And your energy hasn’t worn off, general. I thought you wanted to rest.”

“Can’t your superior officer talk crap about another superior officer?”

"Your apartment walls are thin, sir.”

“Then I’ll help get some remodeling done. Use my transmutation for a change.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Roy surveyed her expression before exchanging her a grin. “Right, sorry. We’ll do the remodeling later.”

She didn’t protest when he relaxed again. With Roy turning off the bedside lamp, they brought themselves to the positions they always took when cuddling was on the table: arms hooked around the other’s waist, legs intertwined with the others, enough space between them for their breaths to keep level and cool. The AC had kicked in, the darkness ready to envelop Roy in the soothing hold, taken in by the lavender scent from his subordinate’s skin.

He exhaled, slow and steady. After all that banter, he still felt taut, and with the way Hawkeye didn’t move with him, Roy was certain she thought the same.

“You’d think it’d be easier,” he mumbled. 

“Five months are enough to prove difficulty, sir.” His captain mumbled back into the fabric of his lapel, breath light on his collarbone. “Comfort only comes with time.”

Roy had to agree on that. It had been so long since he had another body next to his. Sure, he had women from the hostess bar but they were all informants, people he knew with familial and respectful pursuits and ones he could never see himself acting fully intimate with on any scale that could be considered romantic. Riza was a different story, however. 

Riza pressed her nose against the crook of his neck. There was pressure, warmth that made him curl up and nestle further into their little cocoon on the mattress. Roy could feel how tense she was. Her clothed muscles were taut against his embrace, and he felt relieved that at least the other was in the same boat as him.

There was a risk in being seen with such actions. With the current state of doctrine in place for fraternizing with fellow workers or subordinates, every behavior between them counted. Even with that established, the two of them had found ways to keep each other company when the world watched them. Hushed moments in a chosen room — always the most discreet based on the circumstance and the time of day — and they’d take their time in the other’s arms. The silent kisses on one’s sternum, steady heartbeats with the press of a hand against one’s chest, and the brush of eyelash against eyelash. 

Roy wanted to be enraptured in the awkwardness, to be enveloped in the humanity of the other. He nestled against her more, shuddering at her delighted gasp.

The moonlight that cracked through the half-concealed blinds was enough for him to see the scar near her nape. It had healed to milky white, but the sight of it — how far it bit into her skin — pained him. It took months for the scar to considerately heal, and it was hard to look at the resulting mark outside of the bedroom when given a glimpse through Riza’s uniform. Her neck had been vulnerable back then and still was today. A sign of how human she was.

Roy loved being human. He loved knowing that he was more than what he saw in himself, and it gave more reason for Roy to press himself more to her. The tip of his nose brushed the skin above the mark, placing a languid kiss to the middle of the healed tissue. He delighted in how she eased up more with a small content hum, like the solace outweighed the prior suffering.

“Who told you to be this warm, captain?” He whispered into the crook of her neck. “It’s a crime to be this warm.”

“It’s not a crime last I recall,” she told him. Both of them chuckled, Riza burrowing more against him as the hum grew resonant in her throat. “If it was, you’d be detained alongside me; you’re a radiator yourself.”

Roy mumbled into her shirt. “I’m not called the Flame Alchemist for nothing.”

“I wouldn’t argue against it,” Riza said, Roy noting the small quirk of her smile. “I would never in a million years.”

They resumed the silence, watching the serene quiet of the general’s room, the moonlight spilling onto the floorboards. Roy noted how still the entire room became. He thought the idea of buying furniture was ludicrous when they moved to the city; he had dreams here, priorities that resonated higher than some common utility that he won’t even use, but it was the first time the thought of shopping was his and his alone. The war ended. It really was over. Roy was allowed to be in the other’s company. He was allowed to drink coffee with her in the new horizon, to ask her to brunch at the worn-down bar near his district. They could walk to Hughes's grave together as comrades, as close friends who mourned the same brilliant man below the soil. They didn’t have to worry of people eyeing them amid the shadows because of a single connected glance. What they had was the vacancy, their own private gazes, and they cherished it all like they were quenched of thirst.

Roy kept his hold around her waist, mumbling sweet nothings into her ear. He didn’t care if the words were muddled to his subordinate, or if she was too tired to take note of him, all he wanted was to think and allow his thoughts to babble out in trails of whispers. _I am glad. I am happy. I am grateful for your tenacity and stubbornness. I'm_ _so happy we made it._ Each sentence was small, almost sleep-deprived in how he slurred his enunciation, but Riza heard him. 

Roy heard her breath waver at points. It was a steady tempo, holding for seconds, then returning in a steady sigh. He listened to the beats where her movement became hindered, at the ease of tension when she was a hairbreadth away. The only problem they had was their bodies — the typical human problem of finding how they could compromise, to bring themselves a warmth that wasn’t too discomforting. It felt right to be like this. He wanted the affection to last, for hours, for days, as long as reality didn’t disturb the peace.

What surprised him was the insistence his lieutenant had with shifting her weight. It must’ve been the position that bothered her. Their legs were too loose, tangled, and he presumed that the heat left her back cold in the process.

“General, permission to spoon you?”

Roy snorted a little. She was formal even with such a touchy-feeling moment like this. She was incredible, absolutely incredible. "Big spoon or little spoon, Hawkeye?”

“The former.” Her amused voice made his heart ache. “I would like to be reassured that I’ve got your back.”

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “You never cease to amaze me, captain.”

“Thank you." Riza started to move more, hands cradling his hips. “May I?”

They changed their arrangement in silence. Roy couldn’t lie to himself that the warmth and the strong arms around his midriff were enough to make him satisfied. It strung his heart like a tightrope, almost cathartic to indulge in after everything they’d been through. Hawkeye always pulled him away from danger when his impatience got the better of him, and in that moment, there was the familiar relief in safety — his lieutenant accepting his lingered advances with a satisfied hum, a soft pressure placed onto the back of his neck.

“Are you comfortable?” she whispered.

“I am.”

Roy continued to stare through half-lidded eyes. The sleepy atmosphere was a lullaby at this point. It was right to stare at the light blue from the glass panes, how the moonlight seeped in with the hazed glow of yellow from the lampposts outside. There was the distant tapping too. He could almost taste it on his tongue, how each patter reminded him of melancholy, of days gone by.

“It’s raining,” he said.

“Yes, it is.”

"If I popped my head out for a second, I might even get a good idea on whether the temperature's gonna lower or not in a few hours."

"I'd rather not have you risk a cold."

"Might as well. Not like I'm going to die from sickness any time soon."

He continued watch of the window and bit his lip at how everything resumed like background noise, a silent rhythm. It was absurd to know that they were alive, and that everything had changed even when time passed by in a flash as if it wasn’t of importance.

“What are you thinking about?”

Riza’s voice made him flinch. Through all the hushed beats of the storm, Roy almost interpreted her silence for sleep. 

"Small things," he whispered. "Nothing important."

"I doubt that."

He grinned slightly to himself. "Already labeling my feelings now, are we?"

Riza scoffed. Her hold on him tightened. "Your thoughts are interesting to listen to. If I was labeling your feelings then this session wouldn't be a two-way venture."

"Right.”

Roy noted the details on the ceiling. There were tiny cracks now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark, and if he had all night he would’ve mapped out the endless rivulets and bumps. It was calming in its own right, enough for him to melt more in her touch while his mind lulled to rest.

“It’s just...quiet now,” he said, inhaling the cold air. “I don’t feel threatened anymore.”

There was no turning back with what they possessed and what they committed to. Roy had always been in a position where his life was held in a pedestal, a target deemed ready for the slaughter, and now, with his current standing in the government, that idea never ceased to remind itself. He was at least grateful for the captain’s embrace. That there were no shadows to watch over them, no bastards to peak into their private life like eyes on a wall. It was just them. They were the witnesses to intimacy, and damn did it feel good.

“You aren’t alone in that, Roy.”

Ah. There it was. It had been a while since his own name was uttered from her.

He brought his hands over her forearms, brushing them absent-mindedly. "The whole thing was planned down to the tiniest minute detail. It's hard to even think about how we were able to do so much in just under a year with all of that in mind.”

"We wouldn't have done it without a clever man at the helm." Riza's words made him giggle, almost squirming in her hold. What was there to worry about? It felt like old times, teasing him without missing a beat. "Especially if the man's too stubborn to fail."

"A stubborn man is better than a soft one when it comes to war."

"And I know who you are, Roy Mustang," she mumbled. "You're both of those things."

"You make it sound like you're revealing a huge secret of mine," he cooed.

"But am I wrong?" she said.

He allowed the silence to be his response.

Riza placed a kiss onto the back of his neck, small and hesitant, as if she was careful, like it was hard to even ascertain the idea that he was truly here with her rather than just an illusion. But he was in the flesh, alive and well, and Roy made sure to give her arms a squeeze to reciprocate the touch.

"Riza Hawkeye."

"Yes, Roy?”

"The path to Ishval is going to take years in the making." He knew that to be a fact. It took years to get to the rank he was in East City, to keep in the path toward bettering the nation while learning fast how to keep the closest allies in his sight. The hardest part was over, but they had more to deal with before they could ever be satisfied with what they had. Riza knew this too. No matter how many times they had accomplished something, she had seen the path to hell. She knew how long it was going to take. "I'd like to start planning in the morning with you. With the current discussions over Xingese diplomacy, I want to discuss how we can improve the communication between them and the Ishvalans in the area, gain favor before anything else.”

"Of course. Of course."

"But for now," he said. "I want to celebrate our accomplishments." He grinned to himself. "We staged the most successful coup in the country after all."

"The only one to be successful," she corrected.

She was right. The whole thing was an entire mess when he recounted it. Dates were switched over from different hands under the eyes of a militarized state. Connections — one he could only dream of with his wildest capabilities — linked from Central to Eastern Command to Briggs to an immortal man who harbored a counterattack centuries in advance. The coalition of many walks of life, from people he didn’t even know by name. Roy never imagined to do so much in such little time: they made one of the biggest coups d'état in the damn country. And they're still alive to tell the tale.

His laughter escaped him, light, seemingly charmed by the situation.

“What’s so funny?”

“Think about it,” he said, beaming now at the ceiling, at its wonderful expanse of mundane white. "We just...really worked ourselves to shit.”

Her laughter joined him. “I wouldn’t see it as a bad thing. We’ve accounted every factor, the players on the battlefield...”

“And the risks it would take to get there.” His smile morphed to a grimace, giving her wrist a light squeeze. 

“Right.” She squeezed his hand back. “But no regrets, sir?”

“Yes.” It felt vulnerable to have her tiny compared to him, but somehow it felt right to notice the muscle under the clothes, how this woman was able to train herself against the average pain threshold of a human being. She was one of the most resilient individuals he had ever laid eyes on. “No regrets.”

Riza nodded. “And now we have the rest of our lives to work with what we’re given.” The fatigue in her voice had started to slur her words, but he was attentive in listening to her, in how she was able to articulate herself throughout the exhaustion. Their hands intertwined in the dark. “For all the qualities you have, Roy, it’s always a pleasure being with you.”

His heart skipped a beat. “I don’t deserve such an intelligent woman.”

She lightly smacked his arm, both of them left to enjoy the exhausted giggles between them. Joy was almost fleeting, enough to make the moment win over the fears that brewed in his mind.

Riza sighed, pulling him closer. The other obliged without a second thought. “I’ll make us breakfast in the morning."

“Mmm, thank god too,” he said. “Months without your cooking, eating shitty beans from the cafeteria.”

“Last I ate them they weren’t that bad.”

“They weren’t on par with yours.” He could feel himself drifting now. He was glad to at least have this in the care of his lieutenant. It was hard to accept such happiness when he had created so much pain, but for this one day, this one single instance, Roy made an exception. “And Hawkeye...one more thing, before I pass out.”

His fingers pressed to her wrist. He tapped on it three times, firm and steady, his chest fluttering at the slight rise in breath from his subordinate. She didn’t hesitate to do the same thing back.

Three taps. An ‘I love you’ received and an ‘I love you’ given.


End file.
